


Side of a Bullet

by AshVee



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Author doesn't even know how it ends, Gen, Off screen main character death, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Shattered thought process, vague on purpose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:30:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7997017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshVee/pseuds/AshVee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shattered little Bucky Barnes piece that's heavier than it's word count.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Side of a Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Death of a character off screen. Mentions of prior killing.

The Soldier glared down the length of his arm, gun clenched in hand, brought up and ready, waiting. Usually, he liked to do these things from a distance. He'd make an exception for this though. This was important, personal.

Personal? 

Was he a person to feel personally about something? Personal meant up close, but he was a sniper. That was wrong. He was an Asset, but the Asset still liked to stay in the shadows. Keep your own secret. Stay hidden. Stay gone. Stay blank. Blank slate. Blank state.

State? He grew up in Brooklyn.

"God, damn it," he hissed, tightening his grip on the hand gun. There were too many voices, too many memories from too many people that he wasn't. Wasn't anymore. Maybe he never had been the sweet smiling, sharp tongued Bucky Barnes, but he looked an awful lot like him. Felt like him from time to time, now that he'd rebelled, now that he wasn't the Asset. He was the Asset. Wasn't the Asset. Was the-

"Calm down, Sargent. Put the gun down, and we can talk about it."

"I was fine!" he screamed, angry and on edge. "I was fine and then he broke me! He broke me, and you killed him!" The gun wavered for a moment, feinting over to one side, listing as he did, before it snapped back around, once again focused on the man in front of him.

"I didn't kill Ste-"

"You did!" Because what was left of the programming told him that S.H.I.E.L.D had been run by Nick Fury, and S.H.I.E.L.D was responsible for the death of Captain America, the death of Steve Rogers. "You did, and now I'm going to kill you."

"No you're not." The sound of a bow being drawn taught was acknowledged somewhere in the back of his mind, just like the sound of the faint, whining of a repulsor and a gun coming from a holster. "Steve wouldn't want this."

"He wouldn't want to be dead." Steve's team. The Avengers. The Commandos. Bucky didn't belong on either of them anymore. He was the Asset. Not the Asset, damn it. Hawkeye. Iron Man. Black Widow. They'd lost a few. They lost a few during the war. Dugan. Izzy. Falcon. No, that last one was wrong. The last one was now. Another dead man from another war.

Dead. Steve Rogers was dead. Down in the ice. Frozen. Just like Bucky Barnes. Cold. Cold. Cold!

"What happened was a genuine tragedy, but the Captain wouldn't want you to make this of yourself, son. Don't make another bad decision." Nick Fury liked to talk when he thought he could work his way out of something, when he had the upper hand. He didn't have either.

A bullet ripped through the air, skimming the lapel of the black leather coat Nick Fury liked so much. An answering shot went by his head. The Asset didn't miss. The Winter Soldier didn't miss. Neither did the Widow, but just the same, both bullets went wide.

"I don't know who I am," he heard himself saying. "I was fine. He broke me, and now he's gone." The thought rebelled.

Steve Rogers

Classification: Enemy Target

Objective: Terminate

Status: Deceased

"Come on, Barnes. Rogers wasn't a killer. He didn't want you to be one either." Stark. Howard. Familiar.

"Howard?" he asked, dropping the gun and turning, eyes wide and blinking. Except that wasn't Howard Stark. Howard Stark was dead, just like Steve. That was a suit, a lie masquerading as the familiar. The faceplate shifted upward. A man in a mask. He wore a mask once. Over his mouth and nose. God, don't make me put it back on. Don't-

"No, Barnes. Tony. Tony Stark. You remember Steve and I ran into you outside of Phili? You know me, Barnes. Put the gun down. You owe me for dragging my ass all the way to Pennsylvania."

1He did know that. Steve had been looking, and Howard's son had helped him from time to time. He'd seen them both together twice in person, time and time again in the tabloids and the newspapers after. They'd come down on opposite sides of a human rights debate, but in the end, they'd mended fences-or so the tabloids claimed.

"Come on, Barnes. You're not going to shoot anybody."

Except he was. He was. Everyone had a bullet out there, a bullet with their name. The Asset had seen to that, had sat in the dark of poorly lit Motel 6 and with delicate care used a bowie knife to carve Nicolas Fury into the round in the chamber.

"Yes, I am," he said. The gun came back up. A shot rang out.

One man died. The other still lives. No one quite knows which is which.


End file.
